


My Fair Eggsy

by sfumatosoup



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Eggsy is Galahad, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Harry is Arthur, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Mutual Pining, My Fair Lady inspired, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfumatosoup/pseuds/sfumatosoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry takes Eggsy under his wing and teaches him how to be the consummate gentleman, but Eggsy, who happens to be just a little (secretly) smitten with his mentor, gets frustrated when Harry turns into a nag. Honestly, he just wants the man to respect him, and he hopes that maybe, given time, he'll reciprocate his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Fair Eggsy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mandysimo13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/gifts).



> Thank you, Mandysimo13, for giving me the title and mostly, for encouraging me to write this. Hope you love it! <3

Every good spy must be an artist.

A good spy must be able to craft their persona to any given situation. It’s a performance. You know the name of the game and you can stroll into any venue and own it.

Fortunately, Eggsy has always been a keen observer and a fair hand at mimicry. It's this convenient skill set which enables him the ability to feign a degree of competence—to at least, make a suitably convincing first impression (should the need arise) in situations he's less familiar with, specifically, in the arena of high-society. Should, however, he find himself required to sustain the role for any length, it quickly becomes apparent, to even a lesser-trained eye (or ear), that something's awry. The problem is, he's simply ill-equipped. Years of privilege refine a myriad of mannerisms in ways impossible to emulate without the personal experience.

The old Arthur had intimated this might present an issue. He'd once mentioned the same thoughts about Lee.

As elitist and classist as he'd sounded, Harry reluctantly has come to admit to himself, that the old snob might've had a point. In some ways, Eggsy's past serves an advantage that gives him a leg up on his colleagues; but in this regard, it stunts him. It means that Harry (the new Arthur), is limited in what missions he can conscientiously assign the talented young agent which is endlessly frustrating to both of them.

Eggsy wants to honor the noble legacy of his predecessor. He wants to be the consummate Galahad, and Harry owes it to the lad to ensure he has the capacity to do so, which is why he decides to personally take it upon himself to redress the situation.

All Eggsy needs is an adequate education.

So, Harry invites Eggsy to his house and they begin his private lessons. They share supper. Harry uses the meal to micro-manage Eggsy in everything from how he folds the napkin over his lap to how he holds his teacup until his table manners are impeccable. He learns how to select a wine and how to pair it. In the first week alone, Eggsy learns enough about fermented grapes to bore a sommelier.

Harry then explains all the intricacies of proper etiquette; from how to confidently conduct himself with poise to identifying the subtler nuances of conversation. Eggsy learns when formalities are expected and when to relax them. He learns how to make introductions and when it's acceptable to excuse himself. He learns how to address individuals of varying statuses. He is taught how to delicately navigate the social circuit with tact, diplomacy and charm.

They work on phonetics. They hone his enunciation, articulation, pronunciation and grammar. _“The rain in spain stays mainly in the plain,”_ he repeats until he's blue in the face.

On one occasion, Harry invites Roxy to join them in a private training room and Eggsy learns the fine art of ballroom dancing. (She's serves as a very accommodating partner, but secretly, Eggsy wouldn't have minded if Harry had simply took to the task himself.)

All-in-all, Harry turns out to be a surprisingly dedicated instructor. In Eggsy’s opinion—a little _too_ dedicated. He takes his role as Eggsy's mentor very seriously and Eggsy is grateful, it's just that, Harry’s single-minded determination to transform him into the kind of bloke who wouldn’t blink twice sitting down for tea with the Queen is starting to become a little annoying. Obviously, Eggsy should be able to act the part, but Harry seems intent on training him to _be_ the part.

He knows he means no offense, but it’s still a _little_ offensive.

See, Eggsy isn’t ashamed of his background. He knows he’s a little rough around the edges and Harry is too tactful and too much of a gentleman to ever overtly make him feel inadequate about the fact. He also is well aware that learning all this is a professional necessity. But, by the way Harry turns every spare moment they share in each other’s company into an opportunity for a lesson, is beginning to grate on Eggsy’s nerves and he can't help resent feeling like he's just some kind of pet project to the man.

In retrospect, Eggsy imagines he should have expected it. _Manners maketh man_ is more than a motto for Harry—it's a lifestyle.

“The lack of a silver spoon has set you on a certain path, but you needn’t stay on it. If you’re prepared to adapt and learn, you can transform.”

“Like in My Fair Lady,” Eggsy had realized. What he hadn't realized at the time was how very literally he'd be living the concept.

Every chance he gets, Harry points out the flaws in his behaviour until Eggsy's behaviour is exemplary enough to start testing him in public. Then, Harry starts taking him to the finest restaurants London has to offer and the occasions would almost seem like dates if the man would cease to constantly, preemptively remind him to do 'this' or 'that'.

It's infuriating. Eggsy knows quite well which fork to use for his escargot, _thank you very much_.

The thing is, he likes Harry. Like, _like-_ likes him. (Probably more than is technically appropriate given that ever since his miraculous reappearance from the dead and subsequent promotion to Arthur, he's now Eggsy's boss.)

Harry is amazing. He makes an art form out of being a bad ass, he's clever, he's kind, and he's got a razor sharp wit that puts Eggsy in stitches. He's also fit as fuck. But, as every bit fine as he is, he's also _refined;_ elegance personified and probably way out of the league of a chav like Eggsy. (Not to mention there's that whole matter of the age thing, but age is only a number right?) No one ever said Eggsy couldn't dream.

All the man has to do is walk into a room and it steals his breath away a little. And then, there are his smiles. Eggsy fucking covets those smiles. (Especially those little ones that seem just for Eggsy's benefit.) When Harry smiles, his eyes soften a little and it sends Eggsy's heart fluttering.

He'd been stoked when the man had offered to privately tutor him. It would serve as the perfect excuse to spend time together, and a little part of Eggsy had hoped he could use that to his advantage. He'd hoped if he could impress Harry, the man might be a little more amenable to considering making something more of their relationship.

Eggsy would go about it the right way. He would court the man like a gentleman. Wine him, dine him and hopefully bed him—if only he could work up the courage.

But the problem is, Harry had become so relentlessly immersed in the whole pursuit of making him that perfect gentleman, somewhere down the line, he seemed to forget Eggsy was more than just some mission to accomplish. He doesn't doubt the man means well, but it still smarts a bit.

Now, as Arthur, Harry occasionally must make appearances whenever one of Kingsman's more prominent investors invites him to a function. There's a plus one on the card.

“You'll of course be coming,” Harry tells Eggsy rather than asking him.

“What like, this another test or something?”

“ _Is_ this another test,” Harry corrects, “And yes, in a manner of speaking, you may interpret it as such.”

Eggsy frowns. Even if this were a group consisting entirely of investors, Kingsman's agents are never presented as such, let alone even typically invited in the first place. In this case, this will be a gathering of all types of the upper-echelon with little to no connection to their organization. Which means, Eggsy has no idea how Harry intends to introduce him. “Right, so like, how am I supposed to attend this thing with you?”

“By limousine I expect,” Harry replies a little amused.

“That's not what I meant, Harry,” Eggsy huffs. “Like, you know, in what capacity?”

Harry gives him an odd look. “As my date, of course.”

As incredulous as he is, to his credit, Eggsy takes this all in stride and replies with a simple, “Oh.”

“I trust this won't be a problem?” Harry pushes, the slightest hint of a challenge in his tone.

“Of course not,” Eggsy replies evenly. “I'm honoured.”

Harry gives him a slightly skeptical look for a second but in short order it evolves into a pleased smile. “Very well then. Now that we've settled the matter, I believe it's time we have you fitted for a new suit.”

Eggsy knows he looks sharp in his own tuxedo but Harry's fits him like he was born in it. He swallows hard.

“So, what do you think?” He asks, trying to sound a bit more confident than he feels. 

Harry gives him an approving once-over that's just a little warmer than usual. “You look very handsome.”

Eggsy feels himself blushing. “You're not so bad yourself,” he manages to return, just a little too warm around the collar.

Harry smiles and steps forward, just close enough that Eggsy starts to panic a little. “I thought this might complement the ensemble,” Harry tells him, tucking a silk, scarlet pocket square into his breast pocket identical to his own.

Eggsy barely remembers to breathe again for almost a minute after the man's already stepped away.

“Come along then,” Harry tells him. His grin just a little less than perfectly innocent. “Our ride is waiting.”

They roll up to an enormous estate just on time and Harry chivalrously gives him his arm. Trying not to look as nervous as he feels, Eggsy slips his hand into the crook of his companion's elbow and lets himself be escorted inside. They make their way through a grand entrance hall and are directed into an opulent ballroom crowded with guests dressed to the nines. Eggsy notices a number of eyes following their progress and clutches Harry's arm a little tighter.

Harry pats his hand comfortingly. “No need to be self-conscious, my dear,” he tells him.

“Not for nothin', Harry, but you sure this is a good idea? I mean, ain't this sort gonna be a bit judgmental?”  
  
Harry looks at him with pained disapproval. “If you revert to that ineloquence they might,” he replies coolly. “However, if I'm to understand your meaning correctly, you're referring to how they might perceive us as a couple?”

“Obviously,” Eggsy returns. “I mean, your high-society types tend to be kind of conservative, you know, looking down their noses at this sort of arrangement, yeah?”

“Take a look around. You'll find we're hardly alone. We happen to be among a rather more progressive crowd than you'd expect, particularly considering the hosts themselves.”

Eggsy follows Harry's eyes toward the head of the room where there are two attractive middle aged women flocked by a group engaged in lively conversation.

“What, they're like, lesbians or something?”

Harry snorts. “They're not _like_ lesbians. They _are lesbians._ ”

Eggsy grins. “Hot.”

Harry's sigh is one of those long-suffering kinds and Eggsy feels a hell of a lot lighter.

“So, you don't care that everyone's gonna think you're like...”

Harry gives him an amused smirk. “Gay? I doubt it would come as a surprise for those here who already know me,” he replies easily.

Before this heartening new information even has time to absorb, a large man is bounding toward them with a wide, ebullient grin plastered on his face.

“Harry Hart! Is that you, old boy? Well if I live and breathe!” The stranger exclaims, slapping Harry companionably on the back.

“Roger, how good to see you,” Harry replies congenially. “How's the wife?”

“The wife is dead on her feet,” Roger's wife laughs, coming up from behind her husband.

“Ah, Lizzy, always a pleasure,” Harry says, taking her hand. “I expect you have your hands quite full these days,” Harry replies. “How many little ones do you have now?”

“Still only the twins and Peter of course, but I dare say, some days it feels like there may as well be a dozen of them,” she sighs, expressing an exaggerated look of exhaustion. “And who is your handsome young companion?”

“This is my partner, Gary,” Harry replies with a beaming smile in Eggsy's direction that lights him up inside with warmth. “Gary, this is Roger and Elizabeth Reeds. They're very old friends of mine.”

“Oh, come now, Harry,” Elizabeth laughs, swatting his arm playfully. “By 'very old', I do hope you mean, 'very dear'.”

Harry chuckles. “I would never imply otherwise, my dear.”

“Indeed, I knew this old geezer back at Cambridge,” Roger reports.

“How absolutely delightful to meet you, Gary,” Elizabeth replies, “But please, call me 'Lizzy'.”

“Pleasure's all mine, madam, and I prefer to be called 'Eggsy' by my friends,” he returns with a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Ooh, he's _precious_ ,” Lizzy coos to Harry, “How on earth did you find him?”

“Stroke of luck, really,” Harry replies a little proudly and Eggsy melts a little at the look he gives him.

After conversing with the Reeds for a little while longer, they branch off to talk to a few others of varying acquaintance and then, eventually make their way to the host's table.

Before they sit down, Harry pulls him aside.

“Now, Eggsy, Imogen and Naomi are some of Kingsman's most important donors, so do be on your very best behaviour,” he warns. Eggsy's heart drops in his chest.

“I was doing fine with your friends, wasn't I? No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

“Just do as I taught. Just as we rehearsed,” Harry impresses upon him with a small, anxious frown.

“Hear you loud and clear, bruv, be the complete opposite of good ol' me in every way.”

“Just do your best is all I ask.”

Eggsy gives him a bland, reassuring smile. “Don't you worry about a thing, Harry. I've got this.”

 _Oh, he's got this alright._ He'll show the utter prick exactly how well he's got this.

“Harry, splendid to see you could make it to our little get together,” Naomi exclaims.

“Wouldn't have missed it for the world, my dear,” Harry replies.

“Is this your friend, Harry?” Imogen asks, “I've heard so much about you from dear Lizzy. She simply gushed over him.”

“I'm rather taken with him myself,” Harry smiles pleasantly. Eggsy wishes the man weren't such a good liar. He almost believes him himself for a second, and that second is a second too long and just long enough to leave his heart feeling bruised.

“How do you do?” Eggsy replies smoothly.

“How do you do?” Another young woman returns, suddenly butting in past Imogen.

“Eggsy, Harry, this is my niece Julia. She's with us on holiday,” Naomi introduces.

“It's a pleasure,” Eggsy tells her, but honestly, it really is. The girl is stunning.

She gives him a radiant smile and bats her eyelashes coyly and Eggsy thinks, _well, to hell with it._ If Harry's not interested, which he clearly isn't, then what's he got to lose flirting back a little? He returns her smile with one of his own; the kind he knows would charm the pants off anybody.

“Tell me, dove, whatever are you on holiday from, if I may ask?”

“From school, actually,” Julia replies matter-of-fact.

“Careful, old chap, or she'll steal your boy away, this one,” Naomi whispers aside to Harry.

“Oh, let the children have some fun, you old nanny,” Imogen laughs. Julia, enrapt, apparently hears none of this, nor had she apparently heard of Eggsy's connection to the other man.

Harry, for his part, seems none too concerned and steps back a little to watch.

“So Eggsy, what is it you do?” Naomi asks.

“I'm in accounting,” he replies with practiced ease. If it were anyone else, he would of course tell them he was a tailor, but in present company, that would imply he was an agent, and with the fact that he's here as Harry's supposed lover, who also happens to be his boss, that wouldn't be looked at in the kindest light. As annoyed as he is with the man, he's not willing to jeopardize Harry's reputation in that way.

“And however does such an interesting young man have such a dull career?” Imogen titters.

“Admittedly, the work can be dry at times, but there is something to be said for the harmonious logic of numbers,” Eggsy says, pulling it all from his arse with the utmost grace. He catches Harry's look of surprised approval from behind Naomi. _Surprised, eh?_ Told you I could behave myself. _But not for long, just you wait, Harry Hart, just you wait,_ Eggsy grins deviously to himself.

“So your name is Eggsy? How funny!”

“Is it?” Eggsy asks mildly.

“Well, of course I mean nothing by it,” Julia hurries to explain. “But how does one come by such a nickname?”

“That's a funny story, really. Got it from my uncle Nate actually. Always mashed up he were and a right treat at that 'til the day he croaked,” Eggsy replies, enunciating everything in an unfailingly crisp, aristocratic accent.

“Mashed up, whatever does that mean?” Imogen replies, puzzled. “Do you mean to say he was in some kind of accident?”

“Wasn't no accident, he were always on the lash,” Eggsy answers, butchering his grammar in the poshest way while keeping the straightest of faces. He doesn't dare meet eyes with Harry but he can see him behind the women gaping at him in utter horror. “Anyway, me da was frying my ma and me up some eggs one morning and he come by for a visit, right? Pissed as a skunk he were, and he come knockin about into the kitchen, like, and the wanker tripped over his own big feet—gone arse over tit, he done-”

“Arse over tit, did you say?” Naomi gasps, scandalized and a little fascinated in spite of herself.

“I believe he means the fellow fell over,” Harry interjects. “It's the new lingo.”

“Ah, all the rage, with the kids these days from what I understand,” Naomi muses with an awkward, understanding nod. “Dear Julia surely knows a little herself I'm afraid.”

“So as I were saying,” Eggsy continues, he knocked into me ol' pa and the eggs went flying right across the kitchen onto my shirt. Bloody mess it were and me da exclaimed, _'Why now look 'atcha, Gary, you're all eggsy!'_ and I suppose the name stuck.”

When it's all over, everyone is staring at him like he'd grown a second head. And then, Julia who had been convulsing all along with suppressed giggles is outright cackling.

“Are you laughing at me,” Eggsy asks, feigning a pout.

“It's just-” she explains between gasps, holding her sides, “The 'new lingo'. Best chav I've heard since I was last down in South London.”

“An' what was a lush little tart like you doin' in South London now?” Eggsy teases.

“Nothing she wasn't supposed to, I'm sure,” Imogen replies on behalf of her niece with a finely manicured eyebrow raised in her direction.

“Indeed,” Harry butts in a little desperately, “Come, Eggsy, I still have to introduce you to Mr. Donalds, you remember I told you about him earlier.”

“Don't recall a thing about-” Eggsy starts, but by the slightly mad look in Harry's eye he knows the man isn't fucking around. “If you'll excuse me ladies, it's been an absolute pleasure.”

Julia gives him a little grin goodbye which he returns with a lascivious eyebrow waggle and quickly sprints off to catch up with Harry who is already stalking away through the crowd.

“What in the devil's name were you thinking back there?” Harry spits out as soon as they find a private nook to themselves. “Where was your sense of decorum? You were an utter disgrace, Eggsy. You embarrassed me and you embarrassed yourself-”

“For fuck's sake, Harry. I was just takin' the piss. You don't have to be so goddamned uptight. They were all having a great time, you giant prude.”

Harry, beside himself, stares at him aghast. “You mean to tell me all of that back there was to what? _Punish me?_ What have I done, Eggsy, but to help you from day one!”

“Yeah, maybe. But you take it too far. You act like I don't have a single brain cell in my whole fuckin' head. I hate to break it to you, mate, but I'm not a bloody idiot. I know what the fuck I'm supposed to do, you condescending bloody tosser, you've nagged at me long enough for it all to sink in, haven't you?”

“All for your own good,” Harry defends.

Eggsy laughs darkly and shakes his head. “Are you completely off your rocker, mate? All for your own good, you mean. I'm sick and tired of you treating me like I'm some fucking little project. I'm not your fucking puppet, Harry. You don't get to pretend you care about me when I know you don't mean it. I only agreed to this tonight because I thought if I could show you what a good job I could do, that maybe you'd show me a little respect, but I played myself for a fool on that one, didn't I? You're just the same heartless prick you always are,” he points out, so angry he's practically shaking. “And another thing, too. I'm not just some pretty toy you can show off to all your posh friends. Sorry you couldn't trick anyone else into the job, but you couldn't pay me enough to put up with anymore of that shite. I'm done, you hear me? Done.”

After his rant is over, he notices Harry's gone still. But, just as Eggsy thinks he's gone too far and his remorse starts crashing down him, Harry speaks. “How dare you. I've done everything for you, and this is how you show your gratitude? You humiliate me in front of our very bread and butter and then you have the audacity to insult me to my face?”

Eggsy gapes at him, dumbfounded. “You know, Harry, to be honest, I was right chuffed when you offered to take me in and teach me. Thought it was a good way we could get to know each other better. I actually _liked_ you, you fucking dolt. Practically thought you hung the moon. And then tonight? Pretending to be with you? It was nice, 'cause I'd thought about it so often, and I guess I kinda tricked myself into thinking you might feel just a little something for me too,” he confesses. “But you know what? I'm glad I can see the truth now. I was never good enough for Harry Hart, was I? You may have pulled me outta the gutter, Harry, but when you look at me, that's all you can ever see, isn't it? Well, fuck you. I'm more than that. I can do without you.”

Harry's expression is brittle with regret. “Eggsy, please, I had no idea-”

“No, you don't get to say nothin' else,” Eggsy interjects. “Now I'm gonna go have myself a few drinks, get out on the dance floor and have myself a good time. Then we're gonna go home, and I don't wanna hear another word from you. Strictly professional from here on, Harry. I don't owe you nothin' else. No more pretending we're friends, got it?”

Harry ducks his head in shamed resignation. “If that's how you want it.”

Eggsy gets himself a stiff drink after that and noses around the crowd in search of Julia.

“Care to dance?” He asks, and her eyes light up. It does his ego a bit of good to see.

“So where's that nice fellow you were with?” She asks as they sway gracefully together along the ballroom floor.

“Frankly, don't know, don't care,” he replies casually, dipping her in time to the music.

“My aunt implied you were a couple,” Julia remarks carefully.

Eggsy shrugs, bringing her back in close. “That was just for show, long explanation. But, yeah. Long story short: we aren't.”

“Oh, alright,” she replies a little skeptically. “Only, it doesn't look like that from my perspective.”

Eggsy wants to ignore the remark, but his curiosity gets the better of him. “What do you mean?”

“It's just, he's been watching us like a hawk for almost an hour with the crossest, most down-on-his-luck, heartbroken face I've ever seen.”

Eggsy discreetly glances over to where she's nodded. Sure enough, Harry is staring right in their direction— _right at Eggsy_ with an expression matching Julia's exact description.

_Well fuck._

“I mean, you're a darling and absolutely gorgeous to boot, but I'm a romantic at heart and I couldn't bear to stand in the way of... _you know_.”

“No I don't know,” Eggsy replies stubbornly.

“True love?” She shrugs, grinning.

Eggsy groans. “He's a right twat, he's only looking at me like that because I called him out on being a piece of shit.”

“But he looks awfully sorry. You don't have feelings for him?”

Eggsy huffs out a breath and scowls. “Oh, sod it. Fine. You got me. I'm absolutely mad for the bastard.”

Julia grins. “Well, you can tell him that yourself,” she replies. “Since he's coming over this way.”

 _And shit,_ she's right.

“I beg your pardon, madam, but may I cut in?”

“Be my guest,” Julia chirps back, giving Eggsy a parting wink for luck.

“Eggsy, may I have this dance?”

Eggsy frowns and realizes everyone else around them is circling around the dance floor, and if they just stand here, they'll be in the way. “Fine,” he replies curtly, wrapping his arms around Harry's trim waist. God, he'd wanted to do this for ages, and now that he finally is, it's horribly awkward; the terrible things they'd said to each other still fresh on his mind.

“I can't express to you how hideously dreadful I feel for what went down between us. I never meant to convey that you owed me anything. Nor did I ever want you to think for a second I had anything less that the utmost respect for you.”

Eggsy swallows thickly. “Alright, I mean, I didn't have to say all that shit, either. Didn't mean half of it anyway," he mutters. "But, I was fuckin' pissed, 'cause you've been acting like I ain't good enough the way I am, and that hurt, Harry.”

Harry's eyes soften. “ _My darling boy_ ,” he breathes, pulling Eggsy against him until they're in more of a hug than a proper dancing position, “You have always been good enough. Too good, in fact. I admire you greatly and that I ever allowed you to think otherwise was the gravest error.”

“What're you sayin' Harry?” Eggsy asks, his grin is a bit brittle. “You askin' to be friends again?”

“If that was all you would permit, that would be more than I deserved,” Harry replies quietly.

“Think I'm done dancin', wanna move this conversation outside?”

“I believe if we go out to the main hall, there's a balcony we might find some privacy.”

Fortunately, said balcony is unoccupied.

Suddenly alone with Harry, all Eggsy's prior confidence deserts him. Nervously, he chews on the inside of his lip and leans against the railing.

“Eggsy, I never meant to infer I had so little confidence in your progress. You were, in fact, entirely too competent. You see,” Harry explains, “I am guilty of being very selfish. I wanted to prolong our time together, and having foreseen no other method to do so, I had to somehow convince you that we needed more lessons, more tests.”

“I thought that was all about making sure I was fit for that kinda work in the field,” Eggsy huffs.

“Indeed. That's what I wanted you to believe,” Harry admits. “I never expected you to return my feelings.”

“Yeah? And what feelings are those?”

“I'm afraid, darling, that I'm terribly in love with you,” Harry expresses in one, short breath. “Not with the gentleman you think I wanted to make you into, nor the gentleman you truly are now, but with _you_ , my dear boy, exactly as you are.”

Eggsy let's out a long held breath and grins a soppy fucking grin. “Oi, Harry, you fuckin' idiot.”

Harry returns his grin—equally disgustingly besotted. “Yes, Eggsy?”

“I love you, too. Now get the fuck over here and kiss me already.”

Harry does exactly as he asks. He wraps Eggsy in his arms, pulls him against his chest and kisses him like his life depends on it.

The next morning, Eggsy wakes Harry up with another deep kiss (neverminding morning breath) and Harry blinks up at him, first a little bewildered, and then, as it dawns on him, he smiles. His smile is brilliant.

“Was thinkin' we oughta go out for breakfast, but then I decided I should make ya' one. I fry up a mean egg,” he grins, hopping out of bed and tossing Harry's robe to him.

Harry shakes his head and grins. “Eggsy?" he asks. "Where the devil are my slippers?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already watched My Fair Lady, now would be a good time.


End file.
